I Love You
by EnjolrasIsMine
Summary: Eponine joins Les Amis de l'ABC in hopes of capturing Marius' heart, only to form a strong friendship with Enjolras...Or is it something more? COMPLETE AT LAST! Please R&R.
1. The Objective

"I Love You"  
Chapter 1  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Les Misérables.I just love them. They all belong solely to Victor Hugo, the most wonderful author to ever exist.  
  
Author's Note: I picture my Enjolras like Michael Maguire, as you will see in future chapters. This is my first fic; please don't kill me.  
  
Eponine entered Le Café Musain quietly, so as not to be noticed by the sea of young men, the loud purr of their mixed voices rising and falling as randomly as the crashing of waves on the ocean. None of them mattered to her--none of them except Marius.  
And there he was at a table in the corner, his lovely dark hair rippling, a thick, shiny lock cascading over one of his warm navy eyes. His flawless white teeth showed ever so slightly when he parted his rosy lips to speak to Grantaire, who was drinking himself into a stupor.  
Eponine ducked behind a small cluster of boys and sat herself down at a deserted table adjacent to the one at which her love sat. From there, she could watch his every movement, each one making him more and more endearing.  
With seemingly every sentence, Marius convulsively moved his hands in some sort of excited gesture, as though words alone could not express his passion for whatever he spoke of. Eponine couldn't help but smile inwardly.  
Unnoticed for a good ten minutes more, her heart fluttered when Marius caught her eye at last. He rose from his chair elegantly, giving a polite nod to Grantaire, though as the poor drunkard was nearly asleep, he took no notice of the courteous gesture. Eponine knew her face must have been crimson, for she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks with each step Marius took toward her. The smile upon his delicate lips could have given radiant luminosity to even the darkest, coldest winter night.  
"Eponine," he breathed. "I'm so glad you're here!"  
His words struck her with sudden bliss. This beautiful boy, this god, took pleasure in her presence.  
"Hello, M'sieur Marius," she stammered feebly, unable to find her proper voice. All reason seemed to disappear from her mind when she spoke to him.  
"I've been meaning to ask you-" he did not finish. His euphoria apparently overwhelmed him. Could it be? Could he finally return her undying affection?  
"Yes?" she prodded. An inevitable smile curled upon her lips.  
"Have you.have you yet received a reply from Cosette?"  
Just as quickly as the ecstasy had entered Eponine's soul, it vanished again. Her face fell as the stab of grief pierced her heart. Oh, how happy he was! Of course he did not come to see her; he only cared for Cosette. Cosette, with her magnificent features, her sparkling personality. Cosette, who possessed a beauty with which Eponine could not compete. Cosette, Cosette, Cosette. How could she not envy Marius' beloved Cosette?  
Eponine, with her worn, tattered clothes and rough hands could never compare with the loveliness of that girl. But unbeknownst to her was her own splendor. Though she was wretched with poverty and her eyes always hid beneath a shroud of sadness, she held a kind of exquisiteness, which could only be attained through misery. Her hair was tousled, but underneath her hat it was shiny and healthy nonetheless; her hands were scarred and torn from the weather and wear of the streets, but they were just as gentle and tender as any other woman's; her eyes were weary from constant lack of sleep, but somewhere inside a light shone, brilliant and hopeful.  
Alas, in her own mind, she was only a dejected street girl.  
Remembering with regret the note Cosette had given her, Eponine reached into her pocket. Just the day before, she had tucked her hair into her hat and gone to the Rue Plumet disguised as a messenger boy to retrieve that accursed letter. With a sigh, she reluctantly handed it to the gorgeous young man, wishing with all her heart that she could tear the evil paper to shreds.  
"Oh thank you, 'Ponine," beamed Marius, hurriedly snatching it into his own hands and reading it. A long pause followed, in which Eponine wished to disappear off the face of the earth and Marius wished more than ever to be with his dearest Cosette as he read her neat handwriting. Upon finishing, the boy tucked the letter safely into the pocket of his overcoat while Eponine stared into the distance.  
Finally, the silence became unbearable. Feeling an urge to flee, Marius guiltily rummaged through his pockets for some change. At last, he pulled out three sous and thrust them at Eponine.  
"Here," he pressed. "Thank you so much, 'Ponine. I-I don't know what I'd do without you as my dearest friend."  
Friend. Nothing more.  
"No, Marius," replied Eponine softly, gently pushing his hand away. "I cannot accept payment. Seeing your smile is the only compensation I need."  
"'Ponine," Marius sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're a dream come true. I-I-Thank you!"  
And with that, he hurried off to wake Grantaire, as the daylight had faded away and it was at last time to return home.  
Eponine sighed and sat back down at her table, where she stayed until all the boys were gone except Enjolras, the political leader of Les Amis de l'ABC.  
It was then that Eponine drew a brilliant, beautiful idea from the sudden lucidity in her lonely mind. At last, she found one advantage against Cosette: the meetings at Le Café Musain. Cosette never attended these gatherings, a fact which gave Eponine the upper hand. If she joined Les Amis de l'ABC, she would have nearly every night with her dear Marius. With any luck, she might win his heart in their time alone. What a heavenly boon! Her previously forsaken grin returned to her lips.  
"Monsieur Enjolras," she called to the young man, who still sat at a table, working feverishly on a battle plan. He lifted his head with difficulty, seemingly lost in his labor.  
"Yes, Mademoiselle?" his voice was hoarse with fatigue and tight with reluctance to abandon his work, but he was still quite charming.  
"I would like to join your cause."  
It was then that Eponine's smile was returned. 


	2. Growing Affection

"I Love You"  
Chapter 2  
  
Enjolras stood, suddenly bright and friendly, and crossed the room to Eponine. If he had ever been worn and tired, it did not show now. His crystal blue eyes shone with intensity and thought, reflecting the deep inner-workings of his enigmatic mind. He was the type of young man who visualized his goals, clear and simple, and did not yield until his tasks were completed.  
The revolution was an aspect of his life which sent his thoughts into a whirlwind, stirred the blood in his veins, evoked every ounce of passion in his idealistic, youthful heart. He could not resist recruiting a new member into Les Amis de l'ABC, even if it was a woman. In his eyes, gender was inconsequential.  
"I see," he purred. "I must say, Mademoiselle, I am surprised at your interest in the revolution."  
"Oh, but I am very interested," replied Eponine with the calmness of a cat. It was true, though perhaps not for the reasons the young man might have thought. "I think you will find me to be exceptionally dedicated. I shall attend every meeting, without fail."  
The smile upon Enjolras' lips grew wider at the thought of a stronger force against the National Guard.  
"What, pray tell, is your name, then?"  
"It's Eponine."  
"Right, Eponine," he beamed, giving the girl a friendly shoulder-pat. "I'm glad to have another man on the job." Aside from calling her "Mademoiselle," Enjolras did not acknowledge the fact that Eponine was a female.  
Nevertheless, his hand on her shoulder gave her a strange shiver she couldn't explain. She was particularly unaccustomed to male contact.  
Enjolras proceeded to lead the girl around the café, discussing a variety of in-depth subjects for at least twenty minutes. He spoke of his political views, his hopes and aspirations for a brighter tomorrow. He spoke of the injustice he saw every day, the mistreatment of the poor, the lack of cooperation from the government. The boy seemed to lose himself in the topic, for his eyes burned with a deep concentration as he spoke every word, his voice resonating throughout the deserted café, strong and bold, yet calm and collected.  
As he spoke, every thought of Marius in Eponine's head drifted away, making room for Enjolras' speech.  
When at last the boy finished, Eponine's heart pounded with a new, unfamiliar passion, for nothing had ever touched her so deeply or inspired her so greatly.  
  
* * *  
  
From that point on, Eponine attended every meeting at Le Café Musain. The freedom and openness she experienced when she was surrounded by dedicated, optimistic young men satisfied her clever mind, for she never was able to voice her opinions at home. In her father's eyes, she was only useful as a pawn in his illegal scams. Her intellect and sharp wit were seemingly always cramped by her dull, desolate lifestyle until she joined Les Amis de l'ABC.  
Over the weeks that followed, Enjolras' words echoed through her mind, etching themselves into her memory, until she too was obsessed with the revolution.  
The more she fell in love with politics, the less she minded delivering and retrieving Marius' letters to Cosette. Suddenly, her fascination with the future of France engulfed her thoughts, washing away any despair that might have weighed on her shoulders. Her broken heart mended itself, giving life to a new, hopeful, brighter Eponine.  
She even took to arriving at the café early and staying late into the night, for she and Enjolras enjoyed each other's company after their comrades had left for the evening. For hours at a time, the two discussed their plans of action, each of them feeding and stimulating the other's thoughts and creativity, gradually opening the other's mind.  
They always spoke to each other with respect and never seemed to disagree on anything. In a matter of days, their kindred spirits molded into each other, creating an understanding between them that lasted through every moment of every day.  
Sometimes they drew up battle plans together, plotting each point and allowing room for any twist of events, so that every attack would flow smoothly and flawlessly. When their ideas combined, the two of them created beautiful, ingenious works.  
Over the course of several nights together, they formed a tight mutual friendship and admiration for one another, two wandering souls uniting as one; they were lost without each other's company.  
But in this friendship, a trace of affection was laced, unknown to either of them. As the days went by, their reciprocal fondness grew and expanded, and neither Enjolras nor Eponine recognized it. 


	3. The Three Words

"I Love You"  
Chapter 3  
  
There is nothing so pure as the friendship between a young man and woman as they blossom into maturity. During their time spent together, Eponine and Enjolras shared a new kind of compassion for one another, one which, unbeknownst to them, stemmed from their shared love.  
On a particularly stormy night at Le Café Musain, as the wind howled through the cracked windows and the rain pounded angrily against the roof, the couple worked fervently on a new plan of attack. The tiny candle by which they read had nearly burned itself out, drowning in its own melted wax like the sun dissolving into the ocean. The manual clock on the wall had long since stopped, for no one bothered to rewind its key, but it was easily past three o'clock.  
Poor Enjolras was exhausted, yet he pressed on, determined to finish his labor. The intense crystal eyes Eponine now adored were aflame with intensity, despite their lack of rest. His normally neat dark hair began to protest, and a soft, shiny lock fell stubbornly about his forehead.  
He brushed it away with a sigh and leaned closer to his paper, scribbling furious, illegible lines which caused Eponine to smile.  
Suddenly, his every move was endearing to her, for every time he fidgeted, she felt a sort of knowing warmth. She had picked up the ability to predict his movements, each one of them familiar to her now, and could almost copy his natural rhythms.  
Enjolras stopped his writing abruptly and stared at his document for a moment, only to utter a small growl and a curse.  
"What if they attack from the side?" he snarled, exasperated at his slight error. Angrily, he crumpled the paper into a ball and shoved it away, starting fresh with a new sheet.  
"Enjolras," Eponine sighed, her eyes softening with sympathy for the poor, tired young man. "That's enough for tonight. You've been at this for hours. It's time for you to go home and go to bed."  
"Out of the question," he replied tightly. "There is work that must be done. The state of the country is at stake. I cannot rest when I have not even finished a simple plan."  
He lowered his quill to rub his eyes in frustration, then picked it up again to write some more, raking his left hand through his hair. He worked a few minutes more before Eponine intervened.  
"You won't accomplish anything like this," she persisted. "Your mind is tired. You'll not do any good to the country tonight, not like this."  
This time, Enjolras looked up at her, considering her words. Even in his exhaustion, he was a gorgeous boy, with a kind of masculine beauty and grandeur that could never fade with fatigue. Eponine's heart thumped madly when he looked at her with his gaze of fire, though his eyes were as blue as ice. Swallowing her strange sensation, she pressed further.  
"If you get some rest, your head will work better. I promise, Enjolras, you'll think more clearly in the morning."  
"It is morning already," Enjolras argued, still reluctant to abandon his quill.  
Eponine rolled her eyes, though his dedication and perseverance charmed her. Reaching across the table, she brushed away the same unruly lock of hair which had previously disturbed him and smiled.  
"You'll make yourself ill," she insisted. "Just ask Joly. He's a doctor, he'll tell you. Anyway, I'd be worried sick to find you in poor health."  
Despite his frustration, Enjolras smirked in amusement. Although he usually paid no mind to the women who swooned over his exquisite good looks, Eponine was hard to ignore. In fact, she was almost as stubborn as he was.  
"Would you?" he inquired, feigning indifference.  
"Yes, M'sieur," replied Eponine. "Very much so. Now, why don't you close your eyes and lay down your head for a while? It is my turn to work."  
At last, the boy obeyed, unable to resist the call of sweet, refreshing sleep. Like a child, he folded his arms on the table and rested his head, smiling with weary gratitude to the kind girl who rescued him from the strain of consciousness. Eponine immediately picked up a quill and started to work, humming a soft melody.  
As Enjolras drifted into the harmony of night, he took pleasure in the sound of Eponine's lullaby.  
The girl bent over the paper, sketching out a rough map and planning every detail of attack. She used all the power in her cunning brain, which she inherited from her father, to create a flawless battle strategy. At least she put her mind to good use.  
As she toiled, she could not help but occasionally glance up at the sleeping boy next to her, watching his slow, regular breathing cause his chest to rise and fall. Never before had she noticed his magnificent beauty. When he was not talking of revolution or working tensely on his diagrams, he was an angelic boy, precious and dear while he slept.  
When at last Eponine had created a flawless line of attack, she lowered the paper and stared intently at her darling Enjolras. His lips appeared so soft, slightly parted and full. She wished nothing more than to kiss him as he rested, to hold him in her arms and caress his smooth, silky skin with the palm of her hand.  
She returned her eyes to her work and smiled. Raising her quill one last time, she etched three tiny words in the upper-right corner of the parchment: "I love you."  
Then, laying the paper in the center of the table, she stood and leaned over Enjolras' sleeping form. Without causing him to stir, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and ran a hand through his thick, glossy hair. He was warm.  
Smiling, she hugged her old coat tightly around her body and exited the café. 


	4. The Letter

"I Love You"  
Chapter 4  
  
As the next morning dawned, Enjolras lifted his head from his folded arms on the café table and briefly pondered where he was. Within a moment's time he remembered the events of the night before and a smile began to play upon his supple lips. In the clarity of daybreak, the memories were much sweeter. He recalled Eponine's gentle words and compassion as she relived him from his tedious work the previous night, when he was so very fatigued; he recalled her hand gently pushing away the obstinate tresses that fell in his face as he labored over the intricate battle plans; he recalled the melodious lullaby she hummed as he drifted to sleep, her smooth, mellifluous voice filling the emptiness of the large room.  
Glancing to his left, Enjolras found himself disappointed when Eponine was not there beside him. But the square of parchment in front of him caught his eye.  
Upon its surface were meticulous markings and scribbles, each of them linking together to form a magnificent combat strategy. Enjolras inspected it closely, searching for a flaw, but found none. Every move was planned perfectly; not a single detail was lacked.  
Recollecting the previous night once more, Enjolras knew who must have written this work, but he could not believe that such elaborate plans belonged to Eponine! How could she manage to create something so incredibly magnificent?  
Nevertheless, he knew very well how intelligent she was. He smiled inwardly at the shrewdness of his dear girl.  
Every day, her vigor and astuteness stunned him, no matter how well he thought he knew her. Enjolras decided she must have been granted a mind more lucid than any man's, for Eponine always had a way of solving problems none of the other Amis could decipher. Seeing as how all the Friends of the ABC were bright, educated young men, this was quite impressive.  
Still beaming, Enjolras fixed his eyes on the smallest corner of the paper. Three minuscule words were present, yet they were so tiny they were nearly illegible. The boy had to squint and bring the parchment closer to his eyes to read them at all:  
  
"I love you."  
  
Their meaning sent a faint chill up his spine, shocking and wonderful at once, and he let the document float back to the table.  
He hadn't the slightest idea how to feel, and his thoughts stirred wildly through his mind. For once, it was not the revolution that excited him.  
A vague idea crossed his sharp mind, and he pulled out a new square of paper. Picking up his abandoned quill, Enjolras scribbled a short note, folded it, and carried it with him out the door.  
  
* * *  
  
Hurrying up the steps of his friend's apartment, Enjolras raced to Marius' door and pounded on it with more force than he had intended to.  
The lovely young man appeared at once, obviously shocked at the thunderous knocking, but smiled when he recognized Enjolras.  
"Enjolras! Come in," he welcomed, opening the door a bit more and broadening his already wide grin.  
"No time," panted Enjolras, glancing around him as though expecting Eponine to emerge from the hallway. He knew very well that she neighbored Marius, though he had never seen the inside of her apartment.  
Thrusting the letter at Marius, he tore his eyes from Eponine's door and flashed a pleading look at his friend.  
"Give this to Eponine," he whispered. "Don't tell her who it's from."  
The knowing smirk he then received from Marius annoyed him slightly, but he hadn't time to retaliate. The sound of footsteps suddenly echoed from inside Eponine's apartment, growing steadily louder until Enjolras could stay no longer.  
"Please," he hissed with uncharacteristic desperation, and fled.  
  
* * *  
  
At dusk, Eponine left for Le Café Musain, worrying slightly about Enjolras, whom she was certain had not slept enough the night before. Over the weeks the two of them had spent together, Eponine had begun to fret over the boy's health, for he never went to bed at a decent hour and constantly obsessed over inconsequential details. The poor boy!  
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Marius appeared from behind her, breathing heavily from running to catch her.  
"Eponine," he gasped, clutching a square of parchment as well as his burning chest. "Wait a moment! I have to give you this letter!"  
"Oh," the girl replied, surprisingly calm around the boy she once worshiped. "Another letter for Cosette? I shall deliver it as soon as I can."  
"No, no, Eponine," Marius laughed, despite his short-windedness. "This is not for you to deliver. It is for you to read! A.friend asked me to give it to you."  
Eponine's eyes brightened as she took the small scrap of paper into her hands. A letter for her! This was something she was hardly accustomed to.  
"Thank you, M'sieur Marius," she beamed, unfolding the parchment as the young man hurried ahead to the café. Eponine was surprised at herself for not even saying farewell to the boy or watching him depart. But she had a letter of her own! She could not bother herself with goodbyes.  
Weeks ago, she would have longed to speak with Marius, even if only to say two words. However, he now seemed to be just another young man in Les Amis de l'ABC, friendly and pleasant, but nothing more. Her lack of interest in him was only one of the many changes in Eponine now that she cared for Enjolras.  
Anxious now to read the paper clutched in her hands, Eponine stepped under the light of a street lantern and peered at the writing, which was almost disappointingly brief.  
The three words scrawled on the note struck her as odd upon reading them the first time, for she knew not whom the message was from. But reading it once more, she recalled the words she had written on her battle plans the night before and gasped. These blessed words were from none other than her precious Enjolras!  
Nearly skipping as she continued her walk to Le Café Musain, Eponine recited the heavenly message in her head over and over:  
  
"And I, you." 


	5. Realization

"I Love You"  
Chapter 5  
  
Eponine halted at the door to Le Café Musain, letter in hand, and took a moment to work up her courage. Though she attended the meetings at the café almost nightly, tonight held a certain blissful anxiousness in the air. Never before had anyone returned her feelings!  
All her life, Eponine's emotions were swept aside by her cold, uncaring mother and father, making matters all the more difficult for the poor girl when she matured and took interest in Marius. Day after day, she used to fret over the boy, wishing on the stars that he would care for her as deeply as she did for him.  
As so many young lovers know, the grief of unrequited affection tears at the heart with more force and pain than any sword or dagger. Such anguish was the sort Eponine once felt routinely, dull, and yet so sharp all at once. But now Marius was a love in the past, for Enjolras had awakened in her a new fondness, stronger and more magnificent than anything she had ever known. The mere thought of the young man sent a tingling delight up Eponine's spine.  
"What's the matter with me?" she asked herself, taking in a deep, quivering breath so as not to fly into a panic. This was so real, so very unlike all her usual fantasies. This was actually happening.  
Finally deciding the time was right, Eponine opened the café door and entered the large room.  
Already, several of the Amis sat at various tables, chatting gaily with vitality and glee about their plans to rebel. A light shone in each of their ambitious eyes, radiating an indescribable warmth and energy, which reflected their animated youth and vigor. To see such a sight in one's lifetime is to see the spirit of the revolution.  
Fueilly, Combeferre, Bahorel and Courfeyrac took to one corner, creating piles of gathered ammunition to save for the attack; Jean Prouvaire scribbled a mysterious note on a square of parchment with his quill; Joly sat with Lésgle, as usual, discussing his latest imaginary illness; Marius, who had only just arrived, draped his coat over a chair and hurried to assist the others; Grantiare was already drunk and slurring his words as he swayed back and forth in his chair by himself. Eponine expected him to topple over at any moment as she made her way past the large group of men.  
Although she loved all of Les Amis de l'ABC, they did not matter to her now. Tonight, all she cared about was finding her dearest Enjolras.  
She paced around the café, nodding to the young men as she passed them, until she found him at last, once again absorbed in his work in a corner of the room. The poor boy was flushed and slightly worn-looking, though every bit as marvelous as always.  
"I warned you not to work too hard," sighed Eponine, relaxing when she saw the state he was in. "You see now, you look very ill! Not enough sleep, I tell you!"  
Enjolras seemed to start as he registered the girl's voice, and his sudden blushing intensified his already pink glow. All his life, he had been hardy more than asexual, so he was understandably confused by his sudden affection for a woman.  
"Eponine," he sighed, his voice unusually hoarse. He cleared his throat. "I.did not see you there."  
The girl nearly giggled at Enjolras' words. For a boy so confident and outspoken, he was certainly having a laughable amount of difficulty speaking to a street girl.  
"Enjolras, you poor thing, you've worn yourself out entirely," she beamed, trying desperately to conceal her hysterics. "Listen to your voice! It is so rough! Come, have a moment's rest before you kill yourself!"  
"You fret too much, Eponine," he replied, softer than he would have, had he been feeling up to an argument. "My voice is simply tired from my speeches. I will be fine in the morning."  
"Hardly," she pressed. "If you've caught a cold, you'll have to answer to me! I warned you, I did! You should have listened to me. Now, leave your work and we will sit by the fire where it is warm."  
Enjolras smirked and rose from his chair, too tired to put up any more of a fight. As he followed Eponine to the large, lit fireplace, he briefly wondered if she had yet received his letter.  
The couple took seats in two tattered, yet comfortable armchairs. The glow of the roaring embers warmed them as they sat in silence for a moment, taking in its lovely heat. Finally, Enjolras spoke:  
"Eponine, the battle plans you created last night.they were wonderful. I am impressed. Thanks to you, we have a flawless plan of attack against the National Guard."  
Eponine sighed.  
"Enjolras, you worry me," she declared. She did not think it necessary to sugarcoat matters when she could just as easily be blunt.  
"Is that so?" inquired Enjolras, slightly caught off guard.  
Eponine caught his eye and nodded.  
"You worry me every day," she sighed, refusing to break her gaze. "I believe you need to spend less time working and more time--oh, I don't know- -more time out, enjoying the world. It is not healthy to waste your youth obsessing over matters such as war.though I admit it is very interesting."  
Enjolras smiled and considered Eponine's words for a moment. She was very wise for her age, that girl.  
"I shall try," he replied at last.  
His grin was returned and Eponine abruptly rose from her chair. Enjolras stood with her to be a gentleman, unintentionally closing the space between them. In this near contact he could almost hear her soft breath, feel her pale skin, read her very thoughts. The feeling that then swept over him caused his pulse to quicken, his heart pounding like a drum now that they were so close.  
"I will show you how," the girl stated softly, her eyes still fixed on his.  
Enjolras had not expected to feel this way. Suddenly, in this swirling ecstasy, he wished nothing more than for Eponine to show him the life he had missed all these years. He longed to walk the streets of Paris with her, to admire the beauty of the earth and all its wonders. He wanted to explore the magic of the world Eponine saw every day. He wanted so badly to be close to her, closer, closer still.  
What happened next, neither Enjolras nor Eponine could explain. Their emotions blurred in the firelight as they stared at one another, mystified by these strange, new, wonderful feelings. In the thrill of the moment, the generally icy young man placed a hand behind the girl's head and tilted it up to his, bringing her closer than he had ever been to a female in his entire life.  
"I love you," he whispered, the words tumbling out, so odd and so right at the same time. He spoke the very words Eponine had written to him the night before, the very words which had changed him, the very words which he had never before spoken to a woman.  
Taken aback and yet utterly thrilled, Eponine leaned closer to Enjolras' towering form.  
"And I, you," she copied, trading the boy's words for her own.  
In this sudden realization, Enjolras' emotions overwhelmed him. Without any thought at all, he brought Eponine's lips to his, where they stayed perfectly locked, warm and precious, until he realized what he was doing and began to panic. The extraordinary sensation dizzied the calm, collected, never shaken Apollo and his marble lips softened, though his back remained rigid.  
Sensing the boy's discomfort, Eponine pulled away momentarily and laughed.  
"Don't be afraid of me," she sighed, wrapping her arms about his shoulders, and continued what they had not yet finished. Enjolras immediately relaxed.  
The two stayed in each other's embrace, savoring their shared love until they could scarcely breathe. Enjolras' lips tasted so soft and delicate for such a masculine young man, Eponine was reluctant to let them go. But when at last the beautiful kiss ended, her heart's desire was fulfilled, and she could ask for nothing more. Pulling back, she rubbed his shoulders briefly and smiled.  
"Take care, M'sieur, or I shall die worrying for you," she breathed, and stepped away. After a moment of wavering, she turned and walked across the room, vanishing out the door of Le Café Musain.  
After she disappeared, Enjolras stood alone, dazed and frightened and blissful all at once. When he found his voice again, he declared:  
"I shall." 


	6. Help From Jehan

"I Love You"  
Chapter 6  
  
The rest of the night, Enjolras thought of nothing but his beloved Eponine and their tender, heavenly first kiss. Even as they boy lay in his bed, visions and memories of that splendid night kept him wide awake.  
Rising slowly, he crossed the floor of his bedroom to peer out at the nearly full moon, its radiance spreading a whiteness over the ground, bathing the sky in an eerie silver light. It hypnotized him, and he stared in a trance at the brilliant, starry sky, Eponine dancing through his head all the while, until dawn.  
When at last the gray haze of morning filled the air, he walked back to his bed and collapsed in an exhausted heap. The poor young man closed his eyes, utterly confused and distraught by his new feelings, and finally drifted into a troubled sleep. But even as he rested, the ecstasy and agony which tore at his heart and soul still haunted him. The hours until the meeting at Le Café Musain could not pass quickly enough.  
  
* * *  
  
Eponine glanced in the cracked mirror of her apartment and heaved a forlorn sigh. Her hair fell about her face in waves and tangles, very much unlike the lovely curls of the rich ladies in Paris. Scars adorned her cheeks in a pitiful series of lines and stripes. How could a boy in his right mind kiss such a mangled, pathetic tramp?  
The girl held her hands out in front of her to see them more clearly. She nearly gasped at the state they were in. Scratches and cuts lay open and the skin was rough from no protection. Her nails split at the tips, darkly resembling the claws of a stray cat.  
Dropping her arms at her side once again, she looked down at her tattered, torn skirt and ripped blouse. Tears welled up in her eyes.  
How she loved her dear Enjolras! Never in her life had anyone ever cared for her, and now she knew why. She was nothing more than an ugly beggar. Why did such a beautiful boy have affection for her?  
  
* * *  
  
When Eponine did not arrive at Le Café Musain that evening, Enjolras began to grow concerned. All day, he had waited on pins and needles until he could see his precious girl again, and where was she? The poor boy could only assume the worst.  
Jean Prouvaire seemed to notice his distress, for he gently approached him, quill and parchment in hand, and joined him at his secluded table.  
"What is the matter, Enjolras? You look as though you haven't slept in days," he said, trying to catch the young man's eye.  
"Nothing, Jehan," came Enjolras' cold reply. He refused to lift his gaze from the paper he pretended to work on. "I am very busy."  
But his parchment was littered with mindless scribbles, clearly exposing his lie. Jehan laid his paper on top of the other boy's, revealing tiny scrawled words, each of them intertwined into a magnificent love poem.  
"You lie to me, Enjolras," he sighed, admiring his work. "I can see by the look in your eye that something else troubles you. Something much larger than revolution."  
At last, Enjolras looked up, his eyes wide and desperate, stripped of their disdainful façade. Only Jehan could be trusted with the open honesty of his glance.  
"I am ill," he muttered, half believing himself, for he did not feel the way he should have.  
"I think you've caught what Joly has," Jehan laughed. "I assure you, you're not ill with any physical ailment, my friend. I see it in your face. Something else is wrong with you.but what? Love, perhaps?"  
Enjolras nearly fainted at the accuracy of his friend's words, but quickly swallowed his shock and mocked a laugh.  
"You're funny, Jehan. I have no time for love."  
"It's that Eponine, isn't it?" Jehan stared into his friend's eyes with the intensity Enjolras usually held himself.  
The color drained from the other's face. Jehan continued:  
"She is a pretty girl, isn't she? You are lucky she likes you. All the rest of us have had our eyes on her as well. This poem here, I confess, is about her."  
"Wait," croaked Enjolras, pale and almost frightened at the prospect of admitting his feelings for an actual female. "You.how did you know that I.?"  
Jehan's eyes brightened and he nearly toppled out of his chair, he chuckled so hard. His delicate frame shuddered with hysteria at his friend's riotous stuttering.  
"We saw you last night," the boy gasped between gales of laughter. "Grantaire and Fueilly and me! We saw just how in love you two are! It was as beautiful as it was hilarious! Here, the icy boy who doesn't love anything but justice, kisses a girl as though he's been doing it for years!"  
Enjolras cursed. How stupid of him to display his affection for Eponine right in the middle of Le Café Musain! What had gone through his head to make him so careless? He would never live this down with the other Amis.  
"Jehan," he sighed, trying desperately to hold onto any scrap of dignity that might have remained. "Please don't bother me with this now. I don't feel well at all.I don't need this."  
"Where is Eponine tonight?" inquired Jehan, quieting his laugher, but ignoring his friend's plea. "I haven't seen her here."  
"She did not attend this meeting," replied Enjolras, simulating a nonchalant air. But this was not enough for Jehan.  
"Aren't you worried?" he asked with genuine concern. "She always comes to the café in the evenings."  
In truth, Enjolras was extremely worried. His obsession with the girl consumed his thoughts, forbidding him to eat, sleep, or think lucidly. He wondered if Eponine had fallen ill, and if so, he would surely go to pieces. His own health had begun to fail, leaving him flushed and feverish over his dear girl, for he could scarcely function properly without her. Enjolras understood love for the first time in his life.  
Finally unable to contain his anxiety, he opened up to his friend in anguish:  
"Jehan, help me," he whispered roughly, leaning across the table and glancing around no make certain that no one saw him. "Something is horribly wrong with me. I can't think of anything but that girl. I don't know why I feel this way, but it is like nothing I have ever known. Jehan, I don't know what to do."  
The poet picked up his quill, dropping his gaze from Enjolras, and sucked on the tip.  
"This is very inspiring," he mused.  
"Jehan! Please!"  
"Enjolras, do you know what you have to do?" he asked, looking once more at his friend. Any trace of amusement that had once graced his elegant face disappeared and was replaced with absolute seriousness. "You have to go find her. You're in love, my friend. Take my advice: Follow your heart!"  
Enjolras gaped at Jehan for a moment before seeing the wisdom in his words. If anyone knew about love, it was Jean Prouvaire.  
Rising from his chair, he regained his composure and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair for effect.  
"Not a word of this to the others," he whispered harshly as he headed for the door of Le Café Musain.  
But as he exited, Grantaire, who had all but drunk himself under the table, pretended to swoon, causing the statue of a man to turn a deep shade of scarlet. 


	7. Evening Despair

"I Love You"  
Chapter 7  
  
The chilly night wind tossed Enjolras' hair as he hurried out to find Eponine. The streets of Paris were empty aside from a few ambling factory workers headed home for the evening, their silhouettes swiftly vanishing into the darkness as they passed. Dim embers flickered in the street lamps, casting a faint golden glow on the pavement, illuminating the boy's path.  
He picked up his pace, anxiety growing from deep inside him, as he wondered where the girl could be. It was unlike her to disappear like this.  
Just the night before, the two of them had shared such a pure, marvelous kiss; nevertheless, it felt so very far away in the dark of the night. The adoration that had adhered itself to the confused young man now tried to pull away, leaving him cold and mystified without Eponine.  
All his life, Enjolras had never depended on love to warm him. His mother was the revolution; his father was justice; his brothers were the young hopefuls who shared his dreams of a new, free world. Women meant nothing to him. And Eponine was a woman, just like the rest of those who swooned over his beauty. So why did his heart torture him so? What were these strange emotions that caused him such delightful, dreadful agony?  
As he pondered these unanswerable questions, he led himself blindly down alley after alley, street after street, stopping for nothing. The passing scenery blurred in his troubled search, melting and contorting itself into a colorful haze.  
At last, a faint shadow in the distance began to take the shape of a girl. She stood by a fountain in the square of the street, gazing in at the swirling liquid. Her head was bent forward so that her hair fell in her face, disguising her, shrouding her from the rest of the world. If her own father had passed her at that very moment, he wouldn't have even recognized her.  
But Enjolras knew that coat anywhere. His heart giving an exhilarated flutter, he hurried to her side without hesitation.  
"Eponine!" he sighed, flushed and breathless from running. "What on earth are you doing out here by yourself? There's a meeting tonight. I-- what's wrong?"  
He started at the girl's expression, for it was one he had never seen her wear. Dark circles rimmed her usually bright eyes and she looked grave, as though all hope had vanished from her soul. In her state of sorrow, she appeared considerably older, as though the misery added worn years to her youthful face. The poor young woman was simply haggard.  
With a look of anguish, she turned her head away, unable to hold the gaze of the magnificent boy before her.  
"Eponine, please," Enjolras pressed with abnormal desperation. "Are you ill? Is there something you need?"  
"No, Enjolras," she replied, eyes still fixed on the pavement. "There is nothing I need. Just wanted to walk a bit before the meeting. I was just on my way there."  
She glanced once more into the water, disgusted by the ugly gamine staring back at her, and raised her eyes at last, eager to escape the horrifying specter of a young woman that was her reflection.  
Enjolras gazed with concern into the girl's face, searching for a sign of what could be troubling her. But all he saw was sadness; the cause of her despair remained lost in the enigma of Eponine. The honesty of her expression chilled him to where he felt an urge to shiver.  
"And you worry about me," he sighed, shaking his head after regaining his composure.  
Eponine bit her lip, looking up in an effort to keep from crying, but tears welled up in her eyes anyway. She forbade herself to weep. How foolish could she be? She knew better than to show her emotions. That was a major rule of the streets: Save your tears; no one cares.  
But Enjolras cared. The icy, bitter statue cared, for regardless of his nonchalant exterior, he felt things just like the other Amis. When the others spoke of mistresses, he always scoffed, stating that love is a waste of time, but in his heart, he wanted what they had; when Jehan sighed over the many women who had moved him to tears, Enjolras rolled his eyes, but deep inside, he yearned to care for something; when Marius swooned over Cosette, Enjolras feigned annoyance, but the idea of love always appealed to him.  
This was why when Eponine entered his life, his usual disdain and disparagement were disturbed. And now his cover was nearly blown, thanks to this girl who had thrown him so completely off balance.  
But he saw her tears, so heartbreaking when they belonged to the girl he loved, and he could not bear to ignore her agony. She needed tenderness. For once in her life, Eponine needed someone to care.  
Gently and protectively, Enjolras wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her close to his chest, defending her from the cruel world that had so unkindly thrown her aside.  
"It's alright," he whispered, resting his cheek in her hair. "Don't cry, Eponine. It will be all right. I'm here."  
And so they stood for a moment, or perhaps for an eternity, in silence beside the fountain, its cool water trickling endlessly in the night.  
In the quiet, Enjolras realized how nice it felt to be unlike himself. He closed his eyes and stroked Eponine's dark locks, realizing he could easily put on his mask of indifference again tomorrow.  
Eponine did not make any sound. She hated girls who sobbed like infants, for she was perfectly well and strong, and had no need for such childishness. But the tears still remained, silent and sure.  
At last, unable to keep it in any longer, she faintly whispered the one thought that had haunted her ever since she was old enough to see its truth:  
"I am wretched."  
Enjolras squeezed her tighter when he heard her words, and he almost cried himself, though he managed to fight the stinging tears by clamping his eyes shut.  
"You are beautiful," he choked, the sound almost inaudible. But he meant the words more than anything he had said in his entire time on Earth.  
When Eponine pulled away to look him in the eyes, there were dark wet marks on Enjolras' scarlet vest. 


	8. When Tomorrow Comes

"I Love You"  
Chapter 8  
  
Beautiful. This was a word Eponine seldom heard, especially pertaining to herself. She was understandably shocked to receive such a tender compliment from a gorgeous, rich boy like Enjolras. Never in her life had anyone ever thought her nice-looking, or even remotely attractive, for the mask of poverty always veiled her true loveliness. Even her own parents called her ugly--her father in particular--with cruel, degrading remarks that made her want to cry, though she always bit her lip and attempted to ignore them. They constantly referred to the poor girl as a filthy wench or a dirty little hussy; clearly, her self-image had been warped by such harsh insults.  
And yet Enjolras still thought her pretty. Unable to fully understand why, Eponine blushed and tried not to look him in the face.  
She wiped her eyes, ashamed of her tears, and locked her gaze on the pavement. How silly of her to cry over something so trivial! Here her dear friends from the café worked themselves ragged to plan a revolution that would change the future of a nation, and she was caught up in her own self- pity! She chuckled quietly in spite of herself.  
"I'm sorry," she sighed, still rubbing at her eyes, as Enjolras laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm being stupid, I know. Here, we should get back to the café now. I still need to work on some more battle plans."  
But Enjolras stiffened and shook his head, remembering once again how new these foreign feelings were to him. He wasn't sure what response he had expected from Eponine after he confessed to her his opinion of her beauty, but her eagerness to return to work definitely surprised him.  
"The meeting will be over soon anyway," he stated tightly, though his icy blue eyes remained soft with affection. "We can make up for the lost time tomorrow night."  
"No, I mean it," Eponine persisted, feeling suddenly guilty for delaying the progress of the revolution. "I want to help you. Our attack strategies are weak and we need all the time we can get to perfect them. Please."  
She flashed him a pleading look, partially hoping to compensate for her foolishness and also to do her share in the fight for justice. The stronger their force, the better their chance of success, and, most importantly to Eponine, survival.  
Enjolras considered her words for a moment, but the girl still continued to persuade him as he thought:  
"I want to win, Enjolras. If we work hard enough, I know we will. But we have to plan as much as possible. I'll be fine, I promise! I've been ridiculous and I need to do my part. Let us go join the others now!"  
Poor Enjolras was absolutely puzzled by her sudden enthusiasm, especially after how miserable she had been only moments ago, but he knew for sure that he did not want his dear girl to become too involved in the fighting.  
"Not tonight," he finally decided. "I hate it that you are so intent on battling anyway. I don't want you out in the streets when the fighting begins at last."  
The words struck Eponine with shocking force. Suddenly, all her usual feistiness returned, and she raised her head to glare indignantly at the object of her affection.  
"What do you mean?" she barked with almost comical outrage. "I helped you with the plans! You will let me fight!"  
"No, Eponine," insisted the boy. "It is too dangerous. What happens when the National Guard retaliates? They have far more men and more guns than we will ever have! We will be greatly outnumbered, and the risk is severe!"  
Eponine clenched her jaw, and steadied her angry, irregular breathing. Her face was deathly solemn.  
"Then I will fight by your side," she assured him as new, hot tears welled up in her eyes, tears of passion rather than anguish. "I will join you in the streets of Paris and I will fight as long as I can. And if we are both killed in battle, I will die with you!"  
Her words, grim with ugly truth and magnificent with meaning, filled the air, lingering in the following silence as their significance sank in.  
Enjolras' heart nearly stopped in the stillness as he absorbed her feeling. He did not dare blink or remove his gaze from the girl for fear of shattering the somber glass that had crystallized around them in the dark. The understanding that passed between the two figures hushed the surrounding world until everything seemed to stop, as if frozen in time.  
Finally, Enjolras swallowed and took another breath, though he experienced some difficulty trying to resume the normal habits.  
"I can't let you do that," he whispered, his voice suddenly dry and difficult to hear. "If I die, that is the way it must be. But don't you sacrifice your life as well. Please, Eponine, don't."  
But the girl simply stared back at him, unblinking, and spoke the absolute truth from the bottom of her heart:  
"You don't understand," she sighed. "If you die, I will too. Even if I don't fight, your death will kill me as well. I have nothing else, Enjolras. I have nothing but you. So I will fight until we perish side by side. That is the way it will be."  
Without a moment's delay, Enjolras embraced the girl roughly, pulling her as close to him as he could, pressing her cheek into his.  
"Eponine," he whispered huskily into her ear, desperate but sure, with heartrending emotion. "I can't think of this now. I can't think of you dying. Please, let's not worry about such things tonight. Let us go to the café and do our work as usual, but let us not think of death until the time comes!"  
And so a silent agreement was made as the two young lovers stayed locked in one another's embrace, tears present but not flowing, until they at last found the strength to return to Le Café Musain.  
When they arrived, all the other Amis had long since departed, leaving the large room deserted and dark aside from the low-burning remains of a fire in the hearth, crackling quietly as it died.  
Removing her coat, Eponine crossed the floor to stand by it, watching as the smoldering red sparks receded into the black ash. Enjolras followed, still in shock over the evening's events, and halted at her side. Suddenly, he merely wanted to feel her warmth as they stared into the waning embers, drowning in its satisfying heat, forgetting the horrible road down which they would be forced to travel in the near future.  
Softly, Eponine lowered herself to the floor, as though in a trance, and waited while Enjolras did the same. The boy set himself down and draped his strong arms around the girl, warming her in the sweet light of the flames. Without much thought, he placed his lips upon her head, kissing her dark hair with love. It was then that a gentle rain began to tap on the roof of the café, its hypnotic rhythm consuming the two of them, filling the darkness.  
"Tomorrow is far away, Eponine," said Enjolras. "Tonight, we can listen to the drumming and not give a second thought to what we must do in the future."  
Eponine smiled.  
"It is our rain."  
And in the silence during which they then shared a pure, passionate kiss, the young man and woman remembered the three beautiful words which had brought them together.  
  
THE END  
  
***Well, what did you think? Please review! I've really loved hearing from  
you all; you've made me feel so very loved! Oh, and before I forget:  
  
New Les Mis roleplay site:   
  
Help a girl out! I need you! 


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